


Sunrise, Sunset

by SweetPollyOliver



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Klingon Pop Music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 10:01:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17486057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetPollyOliver/pseuds/SweetPollyOliver
Summary: It had never quite occurred to Worf that Alexander might develop a connection to his culture that was utterly alien to him.





	Sunrise, Sunset

Worf had always wanted Alexander to have a connection to his Klingon heritage, had grieved when he felt that his son had rejected it. It had never quite occurred to him that he might develop a connection to his culture that was utterly alien to Worf.

"What," he asked, "is that?"

Alexander cocked his head at him. "You don't know them? They're one of the most popular groups on Qo'noS right now. Probably in the whole Empire." 

Klingon opera it certainly was not. The melody was repetitive and cloying and the lyrics were no different. The beat did, he conceded, have a certain... redemptive quality to it, but something you could dance to was never one of his top priorities in music. He didn't dance, as a policy, unless under direct orders from a superior. 

"I see," he said awkwardly. "I do not follow popular music." 

He had meant to sound like he had far better things to do than follow fads, but he feared it had come out sounding vulnerable. An unbecoming tone for a warrior. 

If it was though, Alexander hadn't noticed. He just shrugged again.

"I didn't think it was possible not to know Nuqjatlh whether you were 'following popular music' or not," he said. "It would be like a Vulcan never having heard of Spock."

"I would hardly put Ambassador Spock in the same category as," Worf paused. "This."

"I like them," Alexander said, not a little defensively. "My Klingon has improved a lot since I've started listening to Klingon music." 

Something in Worf's midriff twinged. He remembered being a boy, all but learning how to be a Klingon out of books of old legends and outdated dictionaries and recordings of his favourite Klingon prima donnas while he spent hours alone in his room. He used to sing to himself, agonizing over his accent and worrying that years away from other Klingons was blunting his proficiency with his first language. He had spent a whole summer translating Fiddler on the Roof in an attempt to convince his music teacher to stage a Klingon version, just to hear the language spoken and sung somewhere other than his bedroom. 

"That's... good," he said, finally. "I am glad that you enjoy them."


End file.
